


Talk Too Much

by orphan_account



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Crushes, Drunkenness, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Indulgent, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-07-25 08:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Champagne's many things- messy, directionless, disorganized, hungover, and barely functioning as a food soul.... But one thing he's definitely not is romantic. And yet somehow, he's completely, totally and absolutely smitten with someone.The problem is that someone is Red Wine- who, despite their friendship, probably just sees him as a hot mess with a lot of emotional baggage and unhealthy drug habits.Something tells him it's going to take more than a few drinks to sort this one out.





	Talk Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely, 100% self-indulgent. I love my oc he's such a disaster
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's my oc's ask page on tumblr, for referance of his appearance/a good self promo](https://ask-ff-champagne.tumblr.com/)

“...What kind of time do you call this?”

 

Champagne freezes as he hears a voice coming from inside the restaurant as he closes the door of the back entrance to the restaurant behind him. He recognises the voice instantly and stiffens up, rosé eyes narrowing as he looks over at the speaker.

“I could ask you the same thing, Red,” he retorts, “You shouldn't be up at…” He looks over at the clock on the wall, “Three-seventeen in the morning either.” He walks slowly, hoping the darkness hides the vomit stains on his shirt, but Red Wine doesn't miss a thing, reaching out to grip his arm as he tries to walk past him.

“This is your third party this week,” he observes; the words themselves aren't too judgemental, but his tone of voice is laced with condemnation.

Champagne makes eye contact with him, tensing up in his grip. Despite the extra height from his heels, Red Wine still stands a few inches above him; even after knowing him for years, Champagne can't help but feel a little intimidated.

“Fourth, actually,” he retorts, pulling his arm out of his grasp, “Just the third time you've caught me.” There isn't much light in the room, but he still manages to catch the look of disdain that crosses Red Wine’s face as he says this. Champagne feels a lump in his throat, but swallows it down. “Are you done interrogating me yet?” he snaps, “Can I go?”

 

Red Wine doesn't answer his question, instead diverting his attention to something else. “You have a hickey,” he says, “A fresh one.” This time there's no judgement in his voice, just annoyance and disappointment. Champagne rolls his eyes.

“If you think I give a shit about your opinion on my sexual life then you're fucking wrong, Red Wine,” he says. The 'unless you're a part of it’ goes unsaid.

The thing is, if this were anyone else, Champagne probably would've punched them by now. He hates it when people try to question his actions and reprimand him for them. He also just generally finds other food souls to be irritating and trying, and his opinion on them only worsens when he's tired and drunk like he is now.

Red Wine, however, is the exception to this rule; past his cold, proud exterior and smug demeanor, he's one of the kindest and most genuine people he's ever met. He’s also hot. Like, really hot. Champagne would be lying if he said he hasn't thought about making out with him on multiple separate occasions.

 

For a few moments, there's silence. Red Wine doesn't look away, his gaze fixed on Champagne, unwavering. Champagne knows exactly what he thinks of him. They're friends, yes, but he's also fully aware that Red Wine disapproves of the parties he goes to, of the illegal (and some of the legal) things that go on there. He's tried to change his mind on them several times, but he's adamantly opposed to them. It's annoying, but a part of Champagne looks forward to being caught; it's the only time he gets alone with him after all.

 

Eventually, Red Wine is the one to break the silence, letting go of Champagne and sighing as he folds his arms. “How much longer are you going to be doing this?” he asks. Champagne frowns.

“Doing what?”

“This,” Red Wine narrows his eyes, making a vague gesture towards him with his hand, “Sneaking out and not coming back until three in the morning.”

“It's not that bad.”

“There's vomit on your shirt.”

“And?”

“And you stink of cannabis.”

Champagne sighs. “That's fair,” he admits, “But it's not like you've never done the same thing. If I remember correctly the first time we had a sober conversation I was holding your hair back while you puked."

“When I go out to drink I do it when I'm with people I know and when it's _legal_ ,” Red Wine points out, “This is the fourth party you've been to this week, Champagne, I don't understand how you can't see how this is a problem.” 

Champagne opens his mouth to reply, but closes it again when he can't think of anything to say in response. Red Wine's right- he can't see how it's a problem, and he doesn't want to see it as one either. He can feel a lump forming in his throat, but he's not sure if it's the result of guilt or just a few too many drinks.

“Whatever,” he eventually says, “I'm gonna go throw up.”

Red Wine neither answers or stops him as he turns to leave.

 

\--

 

The first thing Champagne notices when he wakes up is that he isn't in his own bed.

The second thing he notices is the throbbing pain in his skull and the dull ache in his joints. He forces himself to sit up, letting out a groan as he pushes his hair out of his face. He kicks the covers off his body, wrinkling his nose as the smell of vomit hits him; juding by this and the stains on his clothes, last night had clearly been fun (not that he can remember any of it).

 

He gets to his feet, grateful for the closed curtains; he’s not sure if his eyes- or the rest of his body for that matter- would be able to handle any amount of light-

“I see you're finally awake.”

A voice comes from behind him and he jumps, narrowing his eyes.

“Red Wine,” he says, voice low and hoarse, “Were you watching me sleep?” Red Wine steps forward, pulling the bedsheets back onto the bed and shooting him a quick glare.

“This is _my_ room,” he tells him, “You passed out and I brought you up here.”

Champagne raises an eyebrow “...You carried me up here?”

“Yes...?”

He rolls his eyes, lips curling upwards into a grin. “Oh, so _brave_ ,” he drawls, “You're my _hero_.” His grin widens at the thought of the other food soul having to carry him upstairs, and a part of him suddenly wishes that he hadn't drank so much so he was able to remember it. He looks up at Red Wine, waiting for him to laugh, or even smile, but he only receives a frown and a sigh in response.

“You owe me one,” he informs him, picking up Champagne’s choker and tossing it over to him, “You threw up on my jacket.”

“I was drunk.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Champagne doesn't answer, bringing a hand up to rub his throbbing temple as he lets out a long groan. He looked down at the floor, face on fire; it feels like someone’s whisked up his guts and he has a feeling that very soon whatever food he’s still got in his stomach is about to be on the floor.

“I'm gonna go puke,” he mutters, shuffling past Red Wine to go to the bathroom.

 

He's right about needing to vomit, and it’s only a matter of seconds after he reaches the toilet before he empties the contents of his stomach out into the water below.

He’s not sure how long he’s kneeling over the bowl for, but by the time he’s done his mouth feels dry and his throat is burning. He stands up shakily, splashing some cold water on his face to clean up the vomit around his lips before taking in his appearance in the mirror. His hangover is completely visible; his eyes are sunken and tired, pink hair disheveled and his skin pale and cold. He looks, to put it lightly, awful.

Champagne hears Red Wine laugh, and he turns to see him watching from the doorway.

“Well I'm glad you find this funny,” he grumbles, walking slowly towards him.

“I don't,” Red Wine counters (though the smile on his face says otherwise), “It's just that I don't understand how you can keep going out to parties if you always feel like this the next day.”

“Not everyone can wake up hangover-less like you can,” Champagne points out, folding his arms as he comes to stand in front of him, “Now if you want to be useful, you can either get me some water and find a healer, or leave me alone.”

“Can't you do that yourself?”

“No.”

“... Fine,” Red Wine sighs, turning to leave, “Make sure you get some rest, okay?”

Champagne manages a smile, nodding as he looks up at the other food soul. “I'll try,” he tells him, “But I can't guarantee anything.”

He hears Red Wine laugh softly as he walks away and he's unable to stop his lips from curling upwards into a smile.

 

Even when he's scolding him Red Wine’s attractive.


End file.
